Лори Касс - Tailing A Tabby

I was in the process of beeping the return books into the computer when Faye pounded back up the bookmobile’s steps. “I remembered!” She reached for the books I was working on. “Here. This is what made me remember,” she said, sorting through the stack and extracting a book that had a boat on its cover.

“ The Boys in the Boat ,” I read. “Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics.”

“It was wonderful,” Tonya said.

Faye tapped the picture of the rowing shell on the book’s cover. “The guy I saw with Carissa, it was Hugo Edel. Boats, that’s what made me remember. He’s that boat guy.”

He certainly was. Edel, along with his wife, Annelise, were the founders of Crown Yachts, a local manufacturer of high-end boats. My cranky neighbor’s boat, as nice as it was, probably cost a fraction of what a Crown would run.

So the question was, what had Carissa, who sold cars, been doing with a man like Hugo Edel? Certainly not buying a boat from him.

“That’s great,” I told Faye. “Call the sheriff’s department and talk to either Detective Devereaux or Detective Inwood. They’ll want to know.”

At least I hoped they would.

• • •

The next day, Saturday, I’d scheduled the bookmobile to appear at the opposite end of the county, including a stop at the marina Chris had asked me to visit, so instead of sitting down to breakfast at the boardinghouse, I was driving east with Thessie at my side and Eddie in the carrier at her feet. He’d snuggled himself into Paulette’s pink blanket so deep that only the tips of his ears were visible.

“Hey, did I tell you?” Thessie asked.

“Can you be a teensy bit more specific?” I checked the side mirrors, flicked on the right turn signal, and aimed the bookmobile at a shady spot created by a clump of white birches.

Uncle Chip’s Marina East looked a lot like the Chilson version, which looked a lot like most fifty-year-old marinas I’d seen. Worn a little at the edges, but worn in a way that was comfortable rather than unsightly. Weathered docks, but no splintered wood. An elderly marina office built with small-diameter vertical logs. Boats of all shapes, sizes, and costs bobbed in the slips, and I could already see people out on their boat decks, pointing at the bookmobile and smiling.

“My mom and dad are going to take me downstate the week after next to look at colleges.” Thessie bounced a little in her seat. “I can’t wait. The University of Michigan and Wayne State have graduate programs in library and information science, but I’ve heard you shouldn’t go to grad school where you got your undergraduate degree. So I was thinking about staying local for the first couple of years, but maybe I should start where I’m going to finish and if I go downstate maybe there will be chances to do an internship somewhere. Hey, wouldn’t it be, like, the coolest thing ever if I got an internship at the Library of Congress?”

She suddenly noticed my lack of response. “Um, are you okay? I thought you’d be excited about this.”

“Oh, I am,” I said. And I was. But if Thessie was going to be away the week after next, I was going to have to quick-a-minute find a bookmobile volunteer. Both Stephen and the library board had been adamant that the bookmobile had to have two people aboard at every stop. I might skirt a rule here and there, especially ones that could involve cats, but the two-at-a-time proclamation was one I dared not flout.

We went through the regular motions for the beginning of a bookmobile stop. Opened the vent in the roof, released the bungee-corded chair at the back desk, fired up the computers, opened the door, and made sure everything was shipshape.

“Mrr.”

I snapped my fingers. “Sorry about that, pal.” Between Thessie’s excited chatter about college and my own concerns about finding a volunteer on short notice, I’d completely forgotten about releasing Eddie.

“Yes, I am a horrible kitty mommy,” I said, hurrying toward the front of the bookmobile, “and you have every right to scold me. I hope you don’t, of course, but I’m sure those hopes will be dashed to bits as soon as I open this door.”

Thessie laughed. “Do you always talk to him as if he can really understand you?”

“Mrr,” Eddie said.

She stopped laughing. “He, uh, sounded kind of annoyed, didn’t he?”

“You’re not annoyed, are you, Eddie?” I scooped him up into my arms and snuggled him. “Not with Thess. She’s your second favorite human and… hey, cut that out.”

He was doing that wriggle and squirm thing, the one that turned him into a slippery liquid mass that was impossible to hold.

“Come on, Eddie, chill a little.” I tried to pet him calm. “She was just joking and…”

And he was out of my arms, on the floor, and zooming down the carpeted aisle of the bookmobile.

“Eddie!” I called. “Don’t you dare go—”

Down the stairs and out the door he went, running flat-out fast, a black-and-white streak of cat-titude.

Thessie shrieked. “He’s out! Minnie, he’s out! He never wants out! We have to—”

“He’ll be fine,” I said with as much calm as I could muster. “But I need to go get him. If you could take care of things for a minute, I’d appreciate it.” Because there were people clattering up the stairs and into the bookmobile. Thessie was many wonderful things, but she did have a slight issue with claustrophobia. Too many people on the bookmobile gave her the absolute willies.

She bit her lower lip, eyed the newcomers, and nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “You have to get Eddie. Just… don’t be long, okay?”

I patted her on the shoulder. “Be back in a jiffy with the kitty.” It didn’t exactly rhyme, but it was enough to get a smile out of her. I headed off, welcoming new patrons as I went, aiming a few at appropriate areas of the bookmobile, and smiling all the while.

My smile dropped off as my feet hit the asphalt. “Rotten cat,” I muttered. “If he does this one more time, I swear I’m never going to bring him on the bookmobile ever again.”

It was a hollow threat and Eddie wouldn’t have taken it seriously if he’d heard it. “Eddie? Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” I turned in a small circle, scanning the area. “Where are you, pal? Eddie!”

A distant “mrr” caught my ear. I called his name again and listened carefully. A second “mrr” had come from the opposite side of the marina, close to the office. Instead of taking the sidewalk, I trotted across the lawn, keeping an eagle eye out for the fuzzy escapee.

I kept trotting, dodging picnic tables and pieces of playground equipment. “Eddie? Here, kitty, kitty. Here, Eddie kit—”

And there he was, occupying the top of an already occupied picnic table. At the table were two men sitting on opposite sides, one of whom was fussing with what looked like a very expensive camera. Both men looked vaguely familiar.

Brett, that was it. And the baseball guy. What was his name… ? I snapped my fingers. “Greg,” I said out loud, and he looked up at me.

“Hey,” he said easily. “Minnie, right? From the marina. Thought this cat looked familiar.” He scratched Eddie behind the ears, which was just the way he liked it. “He pounded across the lawn like a bat out of you-know-what a minute ago.”

“Faster than a speeding bullet,” Brett said, laughing.

I moved closer to Eddie, but he slid backward, out of my reach. “He has a habit of doing that. But you don’t look as if you’re having a stroke, so you should be okay.”

“A stroke?” Greg frowned. “That golf ball got me pretty good the other day, but other than that I feel fine.”

Me and my big mouth. I gave a quick explanation that didn’t make much sense. Then, needing to change the subject, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Too bad about that woman who was killed. Did you know her? Carissa Radle?”